


Scavenging the Wreck

by gloss



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Anal, Dark Empress Rey, F/M, Imprisonment, PIV, Post-TRoS, PostWar, facesitting, force rape, mouthy victim, noncon femdom, some mind-control, violent manhandling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:47:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25073350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloss/pseuds/gloss
Summary: "I worry about your administration," he tells her as he swipes an arm over his eyes and turns to spit out the taste of her in his mouth. "You've got way too much free time to waste on me."Empress Rey visits the prisoner Dameron.
Relationships: Dark Rey/Poe Dameron
Comments: 4
Kudos: 51
Collections: Nonconathon 2020





	Scavenging the Wreck

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inlovewithnight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inlovewithnight/gifts).



It'd be cool if his prison were some crumbling castle on a lonely moon, beset by shrieking gales that batter its rocky coast. Failing that, maybe they could keep him in a gleaming, spotless facility, bright chrome and no sharp edges anywhere. Gravity just slightly heavier than normal and nutrition delivered in aromatic bursts.

Poe is neither the hero of a dark, angsty holo-novela, nor the subject of extragalactic, highly-advanced aliens.

He's just another body in another shitty cell in a permanent holding facility somewhere on Coruscant. There are prisons everywhere. This is one of the older and shittier ones.

He's not even subject to all that much security. He suspects that is supposed to be an insult.

"Sorry, honey," Poe says when the door to his cell rolls up with a clatter. "Not tonight, I've got a _beast_ of a headache."

She doesn't laugh. She never laughs; she's all-powerful and dark as midnight, but forgot to bring her sense of humor along to Sith apotheosis. She flicks her wrist and the door rattles downward. "Dameron."

"Rey," he replies.

She slaps his cheek; the bruise there has not healed. At this rate, it probably won't ever. 

"Right, right, sorry," he mumbles. "Your Serene Highness, Darkest Heartbeat of the World. Event Horizon of Our Love and Obedience."

"You're useless." She prods him with one foot.

"It's true, I am."

"A waste of life."

"Yup."

"Stupid, arrogant, preening and cocksure."

He blinks. "Those are some big words there, m'lady."

She hits him again, then, hissing, springs upward and lands over him on hands and knees, her double-rowed shark-teeth bared and cold breath on his face.

"...so congratulations," he concludes. "Very impressive."

She drags her open mouth down his throat. Fang and tongue, sharp and soft. He tries not to shudder, but he does. She looks up, panting, then licks her lower lip. There's blood on her tongue.

"Waste," she says again. "Garbage."

"So just fucking kill me," he replies. Anxiety flashes cold, deep in his bones and the bags of his lungs. "I can beg for it if you want. You like begging? Bet you do."

Sometimes she looks and acts so much like the Rey he knew that he gets sick, like dizzy and double-visioned, as hope surges through him, only for her to crush it out.

This is not one of those times. Now she looks every bit the monster she is: regal and _furious_ , blue light crackling around her body. Occasionally it grazes his skin and he jolts and whimpers despite himself. Thing is, she's still beautiful, even glorious, but terribly so. Enough to make a man puke out his guts. Enough to make him screech.

Enough to make his body betray him.

"You are aroused," she says now.

"Nerve endings," he says. He tries to make it sound like a scoff. "Physical friction. Natural."

She slaps him again, right on the swollen bruise, then drags her nails down the hot, aching patch of skin.

"But also you, of course," he adds, rolling his eyes. "Who wouldn't get hot around you? All Sith-y and dark and those _fangs_? Hoo-BOY, that's the stuff, am I right?"

She cocks her head at an angle that shouldn't be possible. "My consort does."

Poe's breath stalls in his chest. She smiles at him and rasps her fingernails down his sternum.

"He adores me."

"May the two of you be blissfully happy," he says. "My fondest, warmest wishes for you both. Hope you have lots of fat bouncing evil babies for the Dark Side. Feed 'em to Gramps Palpatine or whatever."

She rises and flips him over. She can move so fast, faster than he can think, let alone move. He crashes onto his knees, one elbow and one hand. She straddles his waist like he's a dwarf bantha.

"You're nothing," she says. The heat of her crotch rubs slickly on the small of his back. "You're nobody."

"That's for damn sure." He just wants to put his head down and go to sleep. He doesn't want to wake up. "Makes me wonder why you even bother with a maggot like me."

She has her hand in his filthy hair, raking at his scalp. A wave of something warm and sweet breaks inside him, runs, frothing, through his thoughts.

"Because of that," she replies, which makes no more sense than anything else she ever says. At least she's consistent. "Because of _him_."

"Your..." He chokes on a rush of bile; she tightens her knees around his bruised and broken ribs. "Your beloved."

The warm froth drains, leaves his mind as jagged and inhospitable as ever. There are dead things left behind, as well as things about to die; they gasp and flop in the open air.

Rey brought the Resistance, and in turn the Resistance brought half the galaxy, to Exegol. She delivered them all into Palpatine's broken hand. Then she consumed him, rotten heart and all. She emerged from that temple afire with lightning, laughing at the death raining down from above.

Out of the cinders and bones, she built a new empire.

"Don't you have anything better to do?" Poe asks now as she rides his back, bouncing and squeezing and grinding on him.

Kylo Ren left breaks and fissures in Poe's mind. He'd long known that, but she confirmed it with a giggle and kiss, the first night she came to his cell. When she flexed her hand in his hair, he filled up with warmth, started to twitch and moan.

"Ren was messy," she said then. "No idea what he was doing. No..." She kissed him, prying open his mouth and fucking in her tongue, before pulling back. She bit at his chin and finished, "No finesse. No _care_."

"As opposed to you," he'd replied, voice thick with the blood filling his mouth.

Tonight, she tosses him onto his back. The impact against the dirty metal floor rings through him, in his bones and teeth, as she hovers above him. Something tugs at his cock, runs warm and slick around the shaft, makes him think about long sunny evenings on Yavin, scent of jungle flowers, slick decadence of makeouts and blow jobs.

"Very good," he tells her, "I'm so horny for nostalgia. Premature ejaculation, super-hot."

She nods, just once, then lands on his face. The angle is wrong, his neck's twisted and he can't breathe. None of that matters. She rubs off against his mouth, lets him taste the traces of come in her folds, thrusts her clit against his upper teeth and moans.

Sex does not undo her. Desire irritates her, clings like a low-grade fever, and she'll do whatever she can to exorcise it. Poe knows he's little more than a breathing vibrator. While she grinds on him, she fills his thoughts with sense memories of her own: what it's like to kill those begging for mercy (ecstatic), what _he_ feels like balls-deep in her cunt (sublime), how fear tastes like honey and terror like mead. How wet she is in battle. 

He gasps, overwhelmed by the taste of his own blood and her blue ozone and running slick. She bends backward, impossible handspring, to land at his feet in a crouch.

"You want so much," she tells him and crawls up his legs.

He truly doesn't. "Just, you know. Death. Even a nap would be nice."

His cock is straining, even in her clawed hand, even at the sight of her fangs, even as she breaches his asshole with the Force. Even as she climbs atop him and descends, centimeter by hateful centimeter. She's tight and wetter than water and _hot_ inside and his back arches to push deeper.

She fucks his ass, his dick, his mind. 

His orgasm builds at the tail of his spine, leaden and insistent. He tries to twist away, but she's everywhere, inside and out, bouncing hard, driving deep.

Ren cracked him; war broke him apart. But only she is here to collect what's left.

"Do it," she whispers, looking just like the old Rey, soft smile and winking dimple. "Please? For me?"

Hands on her skinny hips, he comes with a bellowing sob and wrenching lunge. Shame pumps through him, joins exhaustion and revulsion to twist up inside him and close his throat. He wants to curl up on himself and stay like that.

"Garbage," she says again. She sounds satisfied, if a little bored. "Nothing more."

"I worry about your administration," he tells her as he swipes an arm over his eyes and turns to spit out the taste of her in his mouth. "You've got way too much free time to waste on me."

Up his ass, the Force twists and spreads so wide he yowls and jack-knifes at the waist.

"Less than nothing," she says as the cell door flies upward.

Poe is left panting through gritted teeth, his dick twitching as it softens, her stink all over him and her contempt deep inside.

"Call first next time," he yells after her. "I'll see if I can fit you in!"


End file.
